


Broken Arrows

by awildlokiappears



Series: There's No Place I'd Rather Be [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Tony Stark, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Clint's a hurt birdie, Deaf Clint Barton, Draaaaaama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hearing aids, Hurting Clint, M/M, May is a sweetheart, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of injuries in battle, Ratings to go up in next chapters, Revenge is sweeter when the whole world knows about it., Things get better in the end, happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:52:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's the main baker  and a man with a past himself that he prefers not to remember...<br/>Clint's a soldier, battered and beaten and forgotten by his country, with a heart too broken to go after his only real desire...<br/>And it's up to the merry band of misfits who run (and mooch off of) Agents of Caffeine to make things right again.</p><p>AKA, coffee shop AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Turning the key to the bakery door was always the most satisfying click in the pre-dawn quiet, and Phil gave the old door a gentle shove with his left knee. It always stuck, no matter what they (or the resident mad scientists in residence) did, but it was a pleasant rhythm to his day, followed by nudging the little wedge in place to hold it open to the cool of the night. He unrolled the netting that kept all the bugs that would inevitably come with the sun, and threw on his apron, tying it off and flicking on the low lights and the ovens.

  
Phil was that kind of baker that needed no recipe, needed no special tools; he could accomplish so much with just his knowledge and basic kit, which he was unrolling on the counter top before turning to check the large bowls of dough he'd left to rise over night. A firm pat to the center of each made him smile slightly in approval; just perfect, which meant that Natasha had once again kept the miscreants from the night before out of the bakery. He floured down his enormous table and turned the first bowl out, kneading the whole round out before turning to his rolling pin.

  
The sun slowly crept over the horizon as he worked, and the soft titters from the several different bird species that took refuge in their kitchen garden grew into brilliant song as she crested the distant mountains and shone over the whole town...And he savored it, drinking in the still-cool breeze and the joyful sounds from outside his door as he turned the pastry dough into donuts to fry, pretzels to bake, Danishes, crepes, and a half-dozen other delicious treats. From there, he poured out the cake batter he'd mixed up the day before, and filled the muffin tins with blueberry, raspberry, cranberry, poppy seed, chocolate...

  
Icing melted over the hot pastry, only to cool on the trays by the door as he turned out all the muffins, then went back to the cakes, laying them out to cool before decoration. Brownies went in while the cakes sat, and the muffins went out to the display, followed by the Danishes and pastries after another suitable interval. Out came the brownies, and Phil set to the cakes, trimming off the rounded tops and frosting the bottom before layering them, then neatly frosting the outside edge and smoothing it with his shaping knife.

  
A few curls of chocolate, a handful of chips, a few different pieces of candied fruit, and they followed with the brownies, filling up the empty stands to almost ridiculous amounts...and he grinned up at Maria as she opened, then unlocked the front doors. She was yawning and glared at him, but he only turned back to his bakery; she followed him, setting her purse on the shelf above the office door.

  
"You're far too awake this early in the morning, Phil."

  
"Well, that's what you get for going out with Nick and Jasper."

  
"Hey, we had fun, thank you. You should have been there."

  
"And I had to get up at three in the morning, so no, thank you. I'm fine. Here, have a muffin." She squawked as he tossed her a lemon-poppy seed one (her favorite), and caught it, sighing as he turned back to the important task of making pie.

  
"...Phil, I know you're not happy to live alone..." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, carefully trimming the crust so that he could fill the center with the apples he had simmering on his stove top. "Come out with us of a night, I know Nick will give you the morning off..."

  
"I don't want a one night stand, Maria. I want...a partner. Like what I had with-" He stopped, breathing out his sadness. There. "With him." She looked a little sad at that, and sighed, working on her muffin in little bits, one eye on the front counter. Thankfully, at seven-thirty in the morning in New York, most of the populous was either waking up or at Starbucks; their regulars worked the grueling overnight shifts, and often came in for what was usually their dinner, often meeting kids and families for what little time they could have together...And Phil resolutely ended that conversation, turning it instead to the antics of the night before.

  
She gratefully leapt on that particular out, and they had a good laugh as he finished up both apple pies and made up a nice chocolate cream one, then sat down for a well-deserved break just as their barista, and the first crowd, all came in. Tony was the first of the mad scientists that worked for Agents of Caffeine, and despite the promising career he could still take up as a physics engineer...Well, he was much happier making lattes and mochas and keeping up a steady stream of flirtation, honest admiration and kindness, and the occasional scathing insult to a rude customer.

  
Dark brown hair, flashing brown eyes with a hint of golden fire in them, olive skin and a thoroughly dangerous smirk...couple that with a black band tee, a black apron with the lovely, elegant print of 'I'm Sexy And I Know It', and ripped jeans? He was the irresistibly sexy asshole that kept them very much in business; his knack for up-selling just about everything was legendary in these parts. Once they hit the first lull, Tony came back for his breakfast as Maria took over, and he sat by the doorway on one of the broken chairs he hadn't been able to repair, and Phil brought him a piece of delicious carrot cake before going back to making cookies.

  
"Thanks, Coulson...so, what cookies will we have today?"

  
"Chocolate chip, raspberry white chocolate, peanut butter, snicker doodles, and sugar cookies."

  
"Ooh, an old favorites day? I'll ask Steve to put that on the chalkboard when he wanders in." Phil chuckled at that, and put the first set of pans in the ovens.

  
"You know, we really ought to pay him if he's going to paint our windows and do up our chalkboards."

  
"Oh, I do; he gets a portion of the tips. Maria said I could."

  
"Good; he's got that starving artist look about him, for all that he's a big guy, and I hate to see him struggle."

  
"He's alright right now..." Tony looked a little worried, though, and Phil leaned back on his stool.

  
"What's up?"

  
"...It's...just that he's a vet, and he's got a buddy who's also just out of the tours, and they're both...having a hard time finding a job. I'd offer them both one here, but we really do have all the hands we need, and I won't ask for anyone to give up hours. I mean, I would gladly be a volunteer, you know I don't need the paycheck." No, he didn't; Stark Industries was no small company, and Phil knew that most of his paycheck went into other people's pockets, because Tony loved making people smile.

  
"But we only need one person, then."

  
"Exactly..."

  
"Well, how about we put the word out? We do get the business owners from all over Brooklyn and Staten Island, and you're more than charming enough to get some of your regulars to consider it."

  
"Huh, that's a good idea...I'll try it today. Will you let Nick know?"

  
"Of course; it was my idea, after all. And you know how he feels about vets, Tony."

  
"Yup. He'd hire them in a heartbeat. Alrighty, I gotta get back on the line, the second wave's about to break."

  
"Need a hand out there?"

  
"Maybe- no, no, we're good! Tasha's here early, I guess she switched with Jasper." He grinned and dashed out, and Phil only shook his head and chuckled, leaving the plate of goodies for their crews out in the office for everyone to pick through. He was almost out the door; his days started at four am, and he preferred to leave around ten or eleven so that he could get a nap, get his own stuff done, come back for a couple hours later in the night to set up his dough again, and go back home to sleep.

  
He washed his dishes, and those that had piled up from the morning's rush; he didn't mind getting them out of the way, he always had people willing to put them away later. Wiping down his table and counter tops left him a mess, so he stripped off the apron, brushed off his shirt, swept the flour up off the floor, and did a quick mop, letting the ovens cool as he did so. All in all, it took him till eleven-thirty; not bad for a Friday morning, and he gathered up his kit in his bag, and stepped out of the bakery, waving at the regulars he did know...only to feel his hackles raise.

  
They weren't called 'Agents' for nothing; all of them, from Nick Fury to Natasha Romanov, were all former intelligence agents. Mostly US, though Tasha was from Moscow. Even the baristas and servers were retired from the agencies, save for Tony, but his father had won military contracts for decades, so he felt that he qualified a little. And Phil, well...Phil had been a Ranger, equal parts stubborn Army and shadowy agent. And the guy hunched over his little free coffee and donut was as seedy as they came, or looked it, at least.

  
Phil made his way over nonchalantly, chatting with regulars all around him as he gathered up his own coffee and a couple of donuts, examining the silent, obviously homeless man out of the corner of his eye...and realizing that his initial reaction was largely due to the guy's behavior. He sat like the whole world was against him, like he'd been stabbed in the back, and glances at his shaky hands, his nervous hazel-blue eyes, his faded camo jacket...they told the rest of the story. He was a vet, like so many others, home from the fighting only to find that the world didn't want him around anymore.

  
And he was a sneaky son of a bitch; by the time Phil had gotten to his table, he was out the door and gone, vanishing into the rising heat of the day, duffel on his shoulder. Maria had caught him by this point, and he made a point of cleaning up the lone napkin left behind as he turned to her. There had been something...familiar about the man...

  
"Phil..."

  
"I know, I know."

  
"He's...he's a polite guy, he just needs a little kindness in his life. And we _do_  cater to vets and their needs; we all know what to do if triggers cause an attack."

  
"I know. But...not all vets come back because they're good people."

  
"...He is. I just know it." He sighed and shook his head; he'd never win a fight with her over her gut instinct, and since that same gut had proven him wrong more often than he cared to count, well...

  
"...Just...be smart."

  
"You know we are. Now, go home, get some rest. Tomorrow's the Van Dyne order."

  
"Yeah, I know; we have Richards after that, up at the Baxter Building, right?"

  
"Yup. So you're going to need all your shut-eye to manage getting those two and the shop's needs met. Go, Phil." He laughed as she shooed him out the door, and let the veteran with the sad eyes settle at the back of his mind for the time being; he had plenty to do as it was, and so very little time to do it.

* * *

  
Steve noticed the new guy almost immediately; he must've gotten Sam to point him to the bakery and coffee shop all the guys went to these days, because he was holding one of the small, free coffees Tony always handed out like candy. He had his own in hand as well, newly come from the shop since, as it turned out, they hadn't needed his artistic skills today after all. Tony had looked a little sad at that, but Steve wasn't mad; they couldn't afford to have him come down every day just to chalk out some pretty designs.

  
But he shook of the distraction and examined his fellow blond a little further; this guy had obviously been back for a long while, and judging from his clothing, he'd been homeless for just as long. He didn't smell, which was a blessing, but he looked weary and so haunted that it broke Steve's heart. No one should come home and look like that, not after the horrors they all had seen over the years...He breathed a little easier as Sam welcomed him with a warm smile, and took his own place in the seats that sat before Sam's pedestal.

  
The VA ran these group therapy sessions free of charge, usually with James Rhodes, Carol Danvers, or Sam Wilson, Steve and Bucky's personal favorite. Bucky, in fact, was just coming in now, his jogging clothes dark with sweat as he carried a cup of his own devil's brew. Steve preferred Tony's blends; they were a little bit sweeter, a little bit less bitter, and the smile that came with them, well...He grinned as Buck plopped in the seat next to him.

  
"Mornin', punk."

  
"Good morning, jerk...you know, Sam is never gonna date you if you don't stop being late."

  
"Hey, I made it today! And I'm a grade-A gorgeous guy, who likes to do housework; what more could he ask for?"  
"Punctuality, Barnes." Sam's voice made them both jump; somehow, he'd snuck behind both of them, and they both sputtered and tried to keep their cups intact as they turned to glare up at the grinning therapist. "You both are terrible at keeping to schedules, you know that? How in God's name did you manage to survive the Army?" Bucky shot him a sheepish grin and Steve rolled his eyes at the wheedling tone.

  
"We're doing better, Sam, promise!"

  
"Well, you did make it here today before the clock, so I suppose there's hope yet. But Steve's very right; step it up, and I'll say yes, Barnes." He smirked and walked up to the front, leaving Bucky to stare after him in a mixture of indignation and badly concealed want.

  
"...I can't believe he said you were right." Steve just groaned.

  
"He seriously just told you that he'd go out with you if you stepped up to the plate, and THAT'S all you're upset about?!?"

  
"Steve, how many stupid things have you done over the years?" He blinked, paused, and started to count; Bucky stopped him with a grumble when he'd hit his third round of counting on his fingers. "Never mind. The point is, you dive headfirst into trouble without so much as a 'Hi, how are ya', let alone a plan. And let's not even get _into_  the parachute thing."

  
"I just find them so damn restricting, like..." The crackle of Sam's mike drowned out the rest of his reasoning before settling down, and Bucky just sat back to focus on today's talk. Sam did his talks daily, for the vets that came and went in the night, while Carol and Rhodey switched off every other day. Sunday was the only day they didn't come in, though Sam was always available. His calming, rich voice settled over the crowd like a balm, so completely non-judgmental, but firm, honey-sweet over steel...and Steve stole a glance at his completely in love best friend, smiling just a little.

  
They didn't get along as much as some couples he knew, but the chance was there to be very good to both of them, and Steve had no problem whatsoever pushing them together. He sat back himself, idly concocting little schemes to get Bucky here early, even, when his mind turned on itself and started imagining if those same schemes would work on the gorgeous barista with the dangerous smile...His hands followed his mental state, and the sketchbook that was so much a part of him was open now, right hand sketching out Tony's face from memory...

  
From there, though, he drew all the others; Natasha, with her waves of red hair and catty-green eyes, plump lips curved in a happy smile that was only a little shadowed. Maria, with her stern blue eyes and professional bun and bangs combo, looking as implacable as a statue when a customer tried to claim he was being cheated. Nick and Jasper, two that he himself rarely saw, but was happy to know, for they both always had good prospects for him to try out, even if they didn't work...and lastly, the kind man with the gentle eyes and open smile, who fed everyone he came across. Phil's broad brow and eyes came first, then the shape of his face and his smile and nose, and from there, the graceful, classic line of his haircut, thinning only a little in the front.

  
"...That's really good, sir." The voice brought him out of his state, and Steve lifted his eyes to meet that odd stranger's. He looked nervous, rather than sarcastic, and Steve let his face relax in a warm smile, turning the book so that he could get a better look. A swift glance around told him that Sam was busy working with a group of the more traumatized vets while everyone else read, ate, texted, played games on their tablets and phones...so he was safe to talk to this odd stranger.  
Sure, they had their share of wanderers, but this guy looked different from the rest; more exhausted, for one, and in far worse physical shape. He was thin, too thin, and Steve felt his chin firm. He didn't have much; neither of them did, but he could spare a little to get this fellow soldier something to eat. Bucky seemed to feel the same way; he leaned over to rest his arms on one of the empty chairs, and watched the stranger under hooded eyes.

  
"Thank you very much, but it's just a hobby."

  
"...Beggin' your pardon, but it ain't just a hobby. Sir." The other blond traced the lines of Phil's face, and glanced up; the pain was almost too much for Steve. Oh, it was obvious now, and he winced inwardly to think of it. This guy was either a former Ranger or part of a company that had worked with them, because it was obvious that he knew Phil. Intimately. The sad, broken heart shone in eyes thick with tears, and Steve gently separated the coils of his book, took out the sheet, and gave it to him.

  
"Then it's yours." He looked utterly amazed for a moment, and not for the first time, Steve wished he could turn back time to erase another's pain.

  
"But~!"

  
"No buts. You know, Phil's at that cafe..."

  
"...He don't wanna see me. We...had a falling out." _We said a lot of shit we didn't really mean, but it was too late, now he probably thinks I'm dead._ Steve had no trouble whatsoever reading between those lines, and he shut the book in his bag, meeting the other's eyes with a look of stubborn determination. No wonder Phil looked so sad sometimes...  
"That doesn't mean you can't start over."

  
"Don't mean it's gonna work, either. But...thank you. I never thought he'd be here...that he'd be okay. I...can be okay."  
"...At least tell us your name?" The other man blinked as Bucky's rough voice took over for Steve, and Steve fixed him with a sweet smile, hoping that might crack the wall the guy had so tightly around him. And crack it did; just a tiny one, but they were both patient, and Sam, more still.

  
"I'm...Clint. Clint Barton." He pushed his hoodie all the way down now, looking distinctly confused, and Steve noted the large, outdated, over the ear hearing aids he wore; small wonder he didn't like talking much to people, they had to be ill-fitting at best, and painful at worst. That, thankfully, Sam could help with, and would, in fact, so Steve made an executive decision.  
"Well Clint, I'm Steve Rogers, this is James 'Bucky' Barnes. You've met Sam, yeah?"

  
"...Yeah, he's...he's been real good to me since this morning. Got me a good breakfast, pointed me to the coffee shop for some free brew, since y'all's maker was broken, and he said he might have some place for me to stay tonight."  
"Yeah? How long are you in town?" He looked back down at that, nervous and obviously worried, and Steve softened his voice. "I'm not trying to pry, I just wanna make sure we're doing our best to help you out. If you're in town for longer than a night, I know where we can get you set up for a few weeks, longer if you snag a job."

  
"I...are you sure? I don't wanna get you in trouble..."

  
"You won't. Well, okay, maybe a little, but I'm a big guy, I can take it." That earned him the first real smile, he suspected, Clint had worn in a very long time; it looked a little stiff, but the humor was real in those shuttered eyes, and he smiled too, inviting him into the joke. Bucky's soft laugh was enough to unbend him a little more, and the shy grin that he gave them both, well...Clint was beautiful when he smiled. No wonder Phil fell for him...

  
"Still..."

  
"I promise, it's not a problem. Now...are you hungry?"

  
"...Yeah, but...um..."

  
"What's up?"

  
"...do you know if I could maybe get a shower and change, first?" Bucky chuckled and took the lead now, taking Clint down to the gym showers and letting him take as long and hot a one as he could stand, providing shampoo and soap, while Steve followed, prying his soiled clothing out of his pack to wash in the machines they kept in the locker room too. By the time Clint finally came out of the shower, flushed red and in only his towel, Steve had most of his clothing folded and at the ready, and both he and Bucky brought out deodorant and some intact socks for the man to wear, since his were...well, more darned than the original material.

  
"Guys, thank you so much..." Clint looked much better now, his clean, worn out jeans pairing well with a tight gray tee shirt and a pair of beat-up old boots, and Steve only smiled. He looked happier, too, and as he sat down to lace up his boots, Bucky settled on the bench, straddling it next to him.

  
"Anytime, brother in arms. So, Steve; we're bunking together again?"

  
"Sure, let him have the spare room; it's not like we didn't snuggle up when we were kids anyway." Clint's eyes widened and he held up callused, scarred hands.

  
"No, guys, I can't-" Bucky just grinned and slapped his hands down gently.

  
"Look, we grew up together; twenty-nine years of this skinny little punk who picked fights every goddamn day, was sick for weeks on end, and was just as poor and pretty as I was. We shared a bed for years, and the only problem we'll have now is that we're both big enough to shove the other off the end." Clint blinked, and Steve only chuckled.

  
"He's right; which means one of us will camp in a nest on the floor. Don't tell me you don't need a bed; I'm no doctor, but you're in bad shape, aren't you?" Now Clint showed his worry, and his pain, and Steve settled on his other side, one hand laying gently on his shoulder. "Clint...you need to rest in a real bed for a few months, get your strength back, and heal properly. Let me guess, honorable discharge with a Purple Heart?"

  
"Yeah, I..." He sighed and drooped now, and Steve winced to see the way he held his shoulder, stiff and obviously in pain still. "...I got out, and since I was healing up, I got discharged from the VA the same day. I went home, to Iowa; figured I had the farm to my name, at least, so I could scrape together the rest on my pension. Maybe...maybe try and get a hold of Phil, y'know, with Facebook? I suck at computers and technology, but it didn't matter. The bank had repo'd the farm; guess Dad really was a bastard after all, he never left enough money for the taxes. Jobs was scarce, so I headed west and south, figuring maybe I could get on at Fort Riley or McConnell in Kansas...When my luck ran out there, I headed back east.

  
"But...there wasn't a place for a washed-up sniper with a bum right arm. And I ain't gotta bow anymore, so I can't do the circus again..." Bucky blinked.

  
"The circus?"

  
"...Yeah? They called me The Greatest Marksman, Hawkeye." Now Steve's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

  
"Holy shit, we saw you when we were kids!"

  
"You were so fucking cool!" Bucky crowed out, and Clint just stared, utterly flabbergasted.

  
"...Wait, y'all thought I was...cool?"

  
"Yeah! Clint, man, you were the best! C'mon, we have gotta get you back to Phil-"

  
"No." They had both stood up in their excitement, and Steve's grin melted in an instant as Clint shut down again.  
"But..." Bucky tried, and Clint's eyes came up, hard and angry and no little afraid...and Steve just motioned him to drop it.  
"I ain't goin' back into that cafe; I don't care if they give us free stuff. I...I ain't. And if y'all tryin' make me, I'll just go hop a train like I did in Kentucky."

  
"Clint...we don't want you to do that. Please..." Steve soothed, hands out to calm the obviously distraught man, and he continued. "Look, how about this? Let's take you back to Sam's place; that's where we're staying, and we'll get you set up in the room and get some food, okay? I'm not the greatest cook..."

  
"You are NOT cooking, Rogers. Look, Clint...I'll throw some burgers on the grill outside, we'll have a cookout, beer if you want it, and make fun of the idiot neighbors we have. Sound good?" Bucky butted in and took over, and Steve forgave him internally when Clint slowly, suspiciously nodded, and picked up his duffel with all evidence of calm...but his shaking hands betrayed him when he fumbled with the strap, and Steve averted his eyes, picking up his own bag instead. He wanted Clint to see Phil again...but it wouldn't do any good to force the issue. No...let him come to it on his own terms, and then, well...

  
Steve smiled a little as they made their way out, Bucky distracting Clint with a hundred stupid puns that even had the poor, hurt fellow laughing, if weakly. Once some of the distance was mended, then there was always a chance that they start over. And the best way to start, he thought, might just lie in his sketches; it was time to talk to Tony and Maria, and maybe, just maybe...he could find a little peace himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Wilson was no fool; he knew very well where Steve went every day, and slipping into the quiet, leisurely crowd at Agents, he found himself in the middle of an impromptu concert...And when he realized just who was playing guitar, only a little shaky with the brilliant new prosthetic that Tony had designed and created for him, he felt himself flush all over with pride, mingled with desire. Bucky was doing very well for himself, playing little flourishes while Steve's Gaelic upbringing had him on the little hand drum, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Bucky. But, as always, the obvious master here was none other than Tony Stark himself.

  
The flamboyant genius was lost in the battered old piano that always sat a little ways out of the way, long, scarred fingers dancing over the ivories, his deep voice singing so sweetly in Italian. He took a seat next to Phil; across from them were Natasha and Maria, both happily curled together, Natasha's head on Maria's firm shoulder. Tasha glanced at him and smiled warmly, nodding a little to the trio entrancing the shop, her voice a soft undercurrent to a truly gorgeous tenor.

  
"They've been singing love songs for an hour now; you missed Bucky singing in Romanian, and Steve in Gaelic." His eyes widened, and she grinned; he hadn't even begun to broach the subject of music with his two main therapy patients, and that Tony could...

  
"It's something about his absolute lack of walls, Sam." That was Phil, his voice warm with approval and pride, and the bewildered therapist turned to him, hoping for a better explanation. Apparently that look amused the older man, because he continued. "Tony...was not raised to be a conventional child."

  
"...No, I rather guessed that."

  
"True, but there's so much more to it than that. He was raised to think freely, about everything, and while his father wasn't much of a role model in terms of affection, he's been able to grow and look past that, and I realized the very first day that Tony is a law unto himself. You can't tell him that a thing can only be done a certain way, because he will experiment and test and create something utterly new, purely to prove that those walls can be expanded. Well, you saw what he did with Bucky's arm..."

  
"...and now companies worldwide are building affordable prosthetics out of body-safe and eco-friendly materials..."

  
"And he refused to patent that technique for himself; he did what Jonas Salk did, and made it freely available to all. No one can ever profit from it, not in the way they might have had he chosen to sell the process. And therein lies his greatest strength, Sam...because he pushes those limits, and breaks them. It took, oh, probably an hour of him playing for those two to join on the instruments. I found the drum downstairs, somehow, and the guitar was from one of the other patrons. The piano's Tony's."

  
"...Wow...He...that's amazing." There was a rough chuckle above him, and Sam turned to discover Nick's single eye glinting with amusement.

  
"He is. And he's a damned talented singer and player; whenever he decides to play, I have no problem turning the lights down, and letting him sing his fool heart out."

  
"He's also extremely versatile; he speaks, what, twelve languages, Tash?"

  
"Twenty, if you're counting computer coding and hand sign." Sam's eyes must've been as round as platters, because she just laughed softly and patted his hand. "Relax, Sam, it's mostly language, song, and math that are his strengths."

  
"And science." Natasha's eyes went wide at the sound of that deep, slightly raspy voice, and she turned, a huge grin spreading across her face as she sat up on the seat and hugged the curly-haired man behind her.

  
"Bruce!" Her exclamation must have hit the right break between songs, because all of a sudden, Tony shot across the room and tackled him with a happy shout. The crowd seemed to break up the spell a little more, and while Sam made way for Nick, Maria, Tasha, and Phil to get back to work, he just watched it all unfold, silently in awe. Tony joined them eventually, followed by the man with the kind eyes, Bruce, and he blinked when he realized Bucky was leaning against the wall next to him, watching as half the crowd filtered back out to the late morning sun, while a new one came in the other door.

  
"...He's not quite as good as you are about helping us help ourselves, but he's pretty handy with that sorta thing." Sam only chuckled, then thought, oh, what the hell. He nonchalantly lifted Bucky's arm, tucked himself under it, and pulled it close, one hand tangling with his metal fingers. The ex-sniper blinked at him, a deep red flush blossoming over his cheekbones, and Sam just smiled, then leaned up those few inches and kissed him, soft and sweet.

  
"...I'm so proud of you, Buck." He blushed harder, but gently pulled Sam close, tucking his elbow down below Sam's shoulders, and cuddled him close.

  
"...I'm proud of me too, Sam. I'm proud of Steve, of Tony, of all of 'em. But..."

  
"...You're worried about Clint."

  
"Yeah. It's been about a month now, right? And he's...not really making much progress. I mean, he's got that job at the packing plant, and he's going to his classes, right? That should be good...but..." Sam sighed, eyes closing as he tipped his head against Bucky's collarbone, the cool metal soothing against his short hair and scalp.

  
"I know. But what I don't know is how to bring him out of that shell he's got spun around him."

  
"The worst part, though, is the knives." Yeah, that had been a hell of a nasty surprise the single night that one of Clint's flashbacks had manifested as a truly horrific nightmare. The screaming still echoed in Sam's mind, and Steve had come very, very, very close to being disemboweled when he'd tried to gently wake Clint up...only for the man to swing out with a dagger the size of Steve's forearm. And he was deadly with it; only being half-asleep and locked in the nightmare had it been possible for them to subdue him.

  
And then...weeping, broken on his own borrowed bed, Clint had shown them all the knives on his person, from tiny little throwing daggers to a kukri the size of Sam's calf. Sam still had nightmares himself from that night, and he'd ordered all of them stored in the gun safe he kept in his own room. It wasn't much of a protection, but it was something...and that had only been the first week. The subsequent three saw Clint get a job, get his basic workforce classes going...but that's all. He rarely spoke, and while he didn't care if anyone came into his room, even so much as looking at his smaller bag (the clothes didn't matter much) brought down a careful, seething rage that lasted for hours.

  
Sam didn't know what to do, and he said as much to Bucky, leaning into that strong shoulder as Bucky's hand shifted to rub at his neck and lower scalp, letting Sam hug him around the waist instead.

  
"...I think we need to bring him here."

  
"...But...you said he and Phil..."

  
"Oh, not to see Phil, no. To see Nick, Maria, and May." Sam pondered that plan for a moment, and smiled, ever so slightly.   
"...I like it. I like it a lot. They're all of them skilled hand-to-hand fighters, and they still stay in good shape."

  
"An old agent is a trim one, that's for sure. And while we've seen some horrors...they've lived through it. And come out forged and honed, after enduring the fire. Clint's in the fire right now..."

  
"And it's our job to reforge the battered blade he went in with. Alright, tell you what; let's start small, and bring them over to the VA."

  
"Good plan; that way, he can't say we're trying to get him and Phil back together..."

  
"Even though we are. Yeah, I really like this idea...but...Buck?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"That can wait till morning. I think I owe you dinner." Bucky blinked, and cocked his head, a little like a curious puppy, and Sam grinned. "You haven't been late to anything in a month. The answer's yes."

* * *

  
The quiet here was...odd, but he liked it. It was a gentle reminder of the desert on the other side of the world, the all enveloping darkness and the brilliant cosmos above...well, Brooklyn had way too much pollution, light and otherwise. He couldn't see the stars here, save a few of the most brilliant, glimmering down on the vast city within cities...A breeze touched his face, cooling the sweat there, and now he was back in the desert, the soft lowing of the camel beneath him a comforting lullaby as he dozed in the saddle.

  
He threw back his hood and tugged off the sweatshirt, t-shirt dark with sweat from a long, hot day of work, in a heavy garment that was the only thing that hid his scars. He winced as he tried to roll his bad shoulder; the joint clicked warningly before settling, and the pain from where it'd broken was nearly overwhelming for a long moment...but Clint fought it back, clawing his way back to a mostly perfect consciousness before he sat, heavily, on the long-forgotten milk crate at his feet.   
He froze as it creaked, wondering if it'd send him sprawling flat on his ass, and breathed a faint sigh of relief when it held, letting him settle a little more, legs crossed in front of him, left hand coming up to rub at the painful knot just above the healing fracture. He hated that it was a tell, now, but he could no more control it then he could his flinching. And these days, well...he sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands, and forcibly put it all back in place. At least for the moment...

  
The breeze drew his worried thoughts away again, and he sat up just a little straighter, looking out over the city properly now. He didn't leave the building that Sam and the others all lived in unless he was going to work or class, but he did like coming up here when he couldn't sleep. All three men seemed to understand, and when Clint had reluctantly talked to both Rhodes and Danvers about it, they both shrugged and told him that so long as he at least napped, they didn't mind in the least what he did.

  
And that...well, that seemed to help a little. He still couldn't sleep through the night, or the day, for that matter; the nightmares always came, creeping darkness that swallowed him whole and forced him back into the memories he was working so hard to avoid...But catnaps, those weren't so bad. And no one bothered him anymore, so he didn't feel quite so haggard and frustrated...so long as they didn't look in the damn bag.

  
He still felt a little bad, though, for his reactions that very first night they'd tried to wake him up; he knew, he knew it was a bad fucking idea to take his knives to bed with him, but they were so much a part of him, well...It was too easy to just lay down and drift off...only to come awake with Bucky stripping him almost bare, Steve and Sam holding him down as they forced the knives, daggers, the kukri...everything out of his grasp.

  
He didn't blame Sam for locking them up, either, and after the initial tangle over the duffel bag, well...they mostly just knocked on his door to bring him dinner, left him movies, books, the new Netflix password...otherwise, he was let be. Some pleasantries might be exchanged, and occasionally, he'd join them all for a beer out during the football or basketball season...  
But that was it. And for a while, there, Clint had felt awful lonely. He wanted to be friends with these guys; Sam and Bucky were kinda cute together, if in a painful way ( _don't think about Phil, don't think about Phil..._ ), Steve was a pretty awesome guy, all the way around...Carol was sassy and fun, and Rhodey was full of vengeful, hilarious jokes and a fair amount of ribbing. But that's for normal people. Good people. He'd done so many bad things...all of them, all of them in the name of a god and country he hadn't ever believed in.

  
He'd wanted to be like those guys, as honest as Bucky, as kind as Sam...as good as Steve. But he wasn't that kinda guy...  
"Hey, faggot!" His whole body went tense, and carefully, Clint made his way over to the low ledge that encircled the roof, peering over into the darkness as his hand came up to adjust the fuzziness out of his aids. Static removed, he made his way over to his hoodie, drew it on, and tucked the hood back under the collar, tucking it into his beat-up black jeans as he went back to the ladder, swinging over carefully. Climbing down was an easy task, made easier by the well-oiled springs and hinges of the fire escape, and as he made his way down each story, his eyes narrowed in rage.

  
The young guy from the cafe he'd gone to a month ago at Sam's urging was backing away from these guys, hands up in entreaty, his voice cajoling; Clint had to admire that much, he was doing his damnedest to talk his scrawny ass out of the situation. But that seemed to just add fat to the fire; one of them grinned and reached out, closing his hand on the guy's wrist and yanked. After that, all Clint saw was red.

* * *

  
"...and he just _tore_ into these assholes. I'm telling you, Tash, this guy is one fucking hell of a fighter, and he just tore off into the night after putting those guys down. We gotta try and get him in here." Tony looked just as adamant as he sounded, and Natasha sighed, steepling her fingers over the steaming cup of tea Bruce had brewed up for both of them once Tony had made his way back to the shop. He refused to go home now alone for tonight, and she couldn't blame him, but...She sighed again.

  
"...Tony, what do you want us to do? We've already taken on enough hands as it is, and we can't even hire Steve and Bucky right now. We might be the best thing for vets to work at, but hell, Tony...we can only help so many people right now." He sat back, brooding over his tea for a long time; she waited him out, patient as always. She loved the night shift, and studying the shop in her purview, she hid a smile. It became her domain once Maria went home for the night, the refuge for the weary, the downtrodden, the broken...and speaking of broken, the man that entered now looked so utterly weary and exhausted that the word fit him perfectly.

  
Tasha was up in a heartbeat, idly noticing that for once, Tony was entirely engrossed in his own thoughts. She helped him sit, lowering her voice to a soothing purr, and he just looked up at her, big, blue-hazel eyes dark with depression and pain. He was a big guy, but stooped, like his left shoulder hurt him, and what she could see of his exposed forearms and neck, he was covered in what had to be shrapnel scarring...And that's when she noticed his knuckles.

  
"Alright, let me take care of those...what can I get you tonight, soldier? I'm Natasha, and I'm here to help." He gave her a hard look at that, but let her uncurl his big paws, studying the bruised flesh and two broken knuckle bones...And then, he spoke, deep voice raspy.

  
"...Just...water, please. I don't...I don't got no money to pay." She noted the accent and the sudden change from smooth pronunciation to awkwardness; farm boy then, but raised with a combination of speaking habits, which pointed to foster care, at the least. He probably had gone into the army (or navy, those were a little hard to tell at times) at sixteen, lying about his age but desperate to get away...and the big brass never had cared if their grunts were a little less educated than the majority of the population. And with the hearing loss...he probably had a hard time hearing nuances. Not that that was any fault of his...she just ached a little for him inside.

  
"It's on the house; besides, I've got a ton of food that'll just go to waste, because I certainly can't eat it all, and neither can my roommate." He sat there, blinking, and she smiled. "I make a mean ham n' cheese panini, and we've also got pierogi, bierocks...a few other things, as well as cookies, some pie, a little cake, and a few muffins left. C'mon, take your pick, and eat while I fix up your hands." He quietly stammered out an order, and she left for only a few minutes, coming back with a cold glass of ice water, bandages, antiseptic...and Bruce.

 

* * *

  
"Hi, name's Bruce Banner, and I'm a local doctor." Clint gave him a long stare, but slowly, quietly nodded.

  
"...Clint Barton, Dr. Banner." Bruce only smiled.

  
"Please, call me Bruce. Actually, call me anything but late for dinner!" He grinned at the dorky joke, and even Clint managed to crack a smile, tiny as it was, as Bruce gently took his hand, washed it in the bowl of clean hot water he'd brought with him, and began to bandage Clint's knuckles. He sipped his water as the doctor worked, and gave Tasha a gracious nod and a faint smile when she delivered the food; eating was a bit of a trial at first, but he managed. He ate through his first plate, then his second, and by the time he'd started on the third, his hands were finally done.

  
"Alright, Clint? I'm gonna write you a script for some pain meds, and I'd really like you to come by my office later tomorrow to check on your knuckles. Here's my card...and the script. Just drop it off at your favorite pharmacy tonight, I'll call it in." He carefully took both, putting them neatly in his wallet, though he hadn't, and in fact, couldn't read either slip very well. Not for lack of trying...he just didn't like it much, and he'd never been good at reading. Phil used to say that it was just a learning thing, that he didn't have to read to figure stuff out...

  
 _Phil's not here. Phil's not going to baby you and take care of you anymore, and you need to grow the fuck up, Barton. He probably doesn't even know you're alive, nor would he care...have you seen the people he works with? They're all fucking gorgeous, he won't want a scarred up, fucked up baby like_ YOU. He came back to himself to hear Bruce still speaking, and forced himself to listen, nodding at what he prayed were the appropriate moments.

  
"...and if you need any more meds, you just call me, and I'll give them permission to get you the next month's supply. But I need to know if there's any deeper pain, burning, or numbness; nerve damage is a big problem with injuries like this." He gave him a warm smile, and Clint felt some of his anxiety abate; Bruce was very likable, and incredibly kind to him, and it was obvious, it was very much a part of his very make up. There wasn't a mean bone in his body that Clint could see.

  
So when the doctor took his leave, Clint was able to raise a bandaged hand in a shy good bye, with Natasha coming to gather up his last plate. He thanked her too, and carefully, painfully stood up, wobbling a little as he grit his teeth against the pains shooting up his legs. All of that was from nerve-damage; the shrapnel hadn't gone far enough in to bleed him out, but they left a raging fire in their wake, as half-healed, half-numbed nerves tried to fire off.

  
Thankfully, she was still doing dishes; the one guy, the guy he'd saved, hadn't, thankfully, recognized him when he'd left earlier, and Clint had breathed a little easier knowing that. Not that he minded helping the guy, but...well, Clint didn't remember what he'd done, only that one moment, he was standing, two stories up on a fire escape, and the next, he was coming to standing in the middle of a bunch of guys, all knocked out and beat up...and a familiar burn in his hands.

  
He wasn't the brightest, but he knew what had happened; a full, black out episode, and if Sam ever found out, he'd have kittens. He knew full well what they'd suggest once he'd come clean, and he just...he couldn't do it. So, he thanked Natasha quietly, tucked his hoodie under his arm, and slipped back into the night. Maybe what they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them either.

* * *

  
Phil sat back a little earlier than usual, savoring his coffee and a choice set of his 'Fuck-up Donuts', feeling more tired than he had in a long while. First, Van Dyne's had had a huge catering event for their latest fashion show. Phil had always adored Jan, but he didn't know that he'd do another thing like that again without some help. He did have a few helpers available if he needed them, and after Baxter, the Asgardian delegations, and a few of the weddings, he intended to use them from now on.

  
He didn't do all the food, thankfully, just the pastry and cakes, but it was trying; now, he had a whole week of nothing but his normal shift, and he was taking a well-deserved break from it all. Sitting outside was out of the question, as was his bakery; no, he was taking a nice break right by the AC vent, reveling in the icy cool air that gushed over him. Sitting over here had other perks, too; he was well hidden from the customers, and it was quiet mostly, save for the hum of the vent. All in all, a very satisfying day...

  
And then Sam Wilson found him. Sam looked oddly grim; he was so often smiling that it took Phil by surprise, as did the sudden appearance of May, her own dark eyes quiet, lips curved in that ever present Mona Lisa smile. He sat back and sighed.  
"Alright, what's going on?"

  
"Well, it all starts about a month ago. We met this guy, a new vet around here, turns out he'd hopped a bunch of trains to make it anywhere, trying his luck in every stop. Finally, he gets to Staten, hears about all of us, and showed up in the middle of the night on my shelter shift. I didn't have a whole lot of room left, but I got him a cot and a blanket, at least, and when we ran out of food the next morning, I sent him over here. He was probably the guy with the free donut and coffee and beat up camo and hoodie." Phil blinked as those memories crept back in, buried as they were by the other events.

  
"...Yeah, I remember now. But...he left shortly after I noticed him."

  
"Yeah, he...he's not real fond of attention. He's had a rough time of it; first week in, he accidentally almost hurt Steve in the middle of a nightmare, because he had so many damn knives on him. Anyway, we got him settled down, and let him kinda just act the aloof housecat for a few weeks; sometimes he'd come down and have a beer and watch the game, and others, he would vanish up to the roof for hours on end. But he made it to his classes and his job every day, so we couldn't, and wouldn't, give him shit. Real protective of his gear, though; he wouldn't let anyone touch his smaller bag, still doesn't, so far as I know. It's just...I'm worried, Phil. I don't know how to get through to this guy, and I don't know if we can."

  
"So you want to bring him here?"

  
"...yeah, more or less. May's agreed to help, taking up the first part. We thought we could then move it onto Maria, if she's willing, Fury, then you. You're good, Phil, but...well, we wanna make this right." He had to smile at that, and Sam looked so relieved. "You're not mad..."

  
"How can I be? Sam, you're so very right; you need to play people's strengths on a case like this. If this guy is as bad off as you say, then May's the best first choice. She's teacher and tyrant in the sparring ring, and from there, you've got Maria, the taskmaster."

  
"And Fury, the Colonel. Orders might just help him, if we take care to phrase them right."

  
"Working with the conditioning to help break it. Then I come along, smooth out all the rough spots and help with the worst of it...then what?" Sam grinned, wide and happy, and stuck a thumb at the barista behind him.

  
"Easy enough. We put Tony on his trail."


	3. Chapter 3

May studied the man before her, and let him slowly work his way through the packet, blond eyebrows drawn together in concentration. The goatee he had was neatly trimmed now, his hair spiked up in front and trimmed as well, and all in all, he was a very handsome fellow...and the more she saw, the more the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

This had to be Phil's Clint; the remarkable similarities were simply too much, and it broke her heart, just a little, to see his pain, both emotional and physical. They hadn't talked much yet; she wanted him to read through the information she had first, then she'd go over it again with him, helping him with any unclear points...and then, they'd begin the session. She wasn't just doing this, though, for legal reasons; she wanted him to know exactly what he was getting into, and that once he was in, only extreme circumstances would allow him to drop out of it.

  
This was intensive post-trauma therapy, and it was something she herself had lived through; it was by no means easy, nor was it something that just anyone could do. She knew why she'd been chosen; she'd had the discipline of her own teacher and her youth to fall back on when the cards had played out badly. And though it had taken a very long time, she'd healed enough to be able to help. Maria had too, as had Nick, Natasha...and Phil. But Phil, he was the very last in this chain, and Melinda had every intention of pulling in Tasha for help.

  
She was just as disciplined, though...May closed her eyes, took a careful breath, and let it out. Tasha had had no choice in the matter, and if Clint proved more stubborn than she expected, then she wasn't above using guilt to break down those barriers. Hell, for that matter, she wasn't above using her own experiences; she needed him to break down the walls, and then break down emotionally. It would hurt, it always did, but without that collapse, he'd never confront what had happened to him...

  
And she was pissed that she, even with all her remaining contacts, couldn't get a hold of any information on the incident in question at all. Which meant that there were two things that could have happened; one, there was no paperwork at all, which was very, very possible when coming out of active war zones. And two...that the report that she suspected of existing had been so buried and hidden that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  
That was a very real possibility; not all reports were filed electronically, and searching through the stacks of a dozen fully operational bases was just not possible. But if she could get the details from Clint, they could work through the worst of it...and just maybe, help the man understand that they weren't doing this to hurt him. For Melinda, it became personal; she wanted to see this brave, battered man smile, just like he had in the battered old picture that Phil kept in his wallet, the two of them so happily in love...Yeah.   
She was going to do her damnedest, and to hell with anyone else.

  
"...So, this is basically saying that I give my permission to do these classes contractually?" He still looked a little confused, and the honest nervousness in his voice made her lips soften into a gentle smile.

  
"More or less, except a broken contract here isn't going to bring legal repercussions down on you. It's more...an honor-based contract." He blinked, thinking that over, then very faintly smiled himself.

  
"...Okay, that makes a lot of sense. Thank you; I...appreciate that, and that you're probably taking time out of work to help me." She only smiled, neither giving him a yes or no to that remark (it was a no, retirement and careful stock management had left her rather bored, actually), and turned to the packet.

  
"You're very welcome; now, are there any questions? You're more than welcome to ask any that come up during the course of the classes, regardless of what stage we're at. We will stop everything to answer it, or work it into the lesson plan." He studied her words for a long moment, and she waited, serene and completely patient; his respect was so refreshing that she didn't mind in the least. He finished mulling it over, and sat up straight, taking a deep breath.

  
"...Everything I say is strictly confidential?"

  
"Yes. I'm the only one that will know the full extent of the incidents that have been hurting you; the others will simply be there to help you get back up on your feet, unless you personally wish to disclose it. There...is one other person I would like to bring in, but I would prefer to wait until there is no choice in the matter." He cocked his head at that, and she continued. "She is very much like me; we shared a common training, though hers was involuntary. But I will only bring her in if you are having difficulty."

  
"...what sort of difficulty are we talking about?"

  
"Unable to move past certain points; it happens to many people, so there is no shame in it happening to you."

  
"...Okay. I give my permission for you to bring this lady in if you need to." She nodded, noting it on her own legal pad.  
"Any other questions?" He looked a little wary now.

  
"...will you...will you think I'm a pansy?" Clint shifted from wary to vulnerable, and she leaned forward on her elbows, putting all of her honesty and care into her expression.

  
"No. Not a damn bit. Sergeant Barton, you were hurt, and badly; both physically and mentally. What was done to you, though I do not know, I can guess at, and not only do I not think you're a pansy, a wuss, or any other slur...I admire you. I admire that you traveled so far, working where you could and trying to find a place to call your own. I admire that you work hard, every day, even with that bad shoulder of yours. And most of all, Clint..."

  
She startled him with his own name, and she let her smile soften even more. This part was going to be the coin flip, and she hoped..."Most of all, I admire the man that my best friend fell in love with a long time ago, and mourns with every ounce of his heart and soul. Clinton Barton, I know that you had a deep and loving relationship with Phillip Coulson, and not only do I applaud it...I want to at least help settle things between the two of you." He looked like a deer in the headlights at that, and she waited him out, patient, understanding; they were doing these classes at night, with dinner and drinks provided, so that Clint didn't have to worry about work.

  
It took a good while for him to come out of his shock; patiently, she waited, eyes on his, as he came to himself again...looking nervous and no little angry. But, he took a deep breath, and met her eyes fully again, swallowing his obvious nerves.

  
"...Okay. I...I don't know that I could do a relationship..."

  
"I'm not going to ask you to. That's not the point of this. The point of this is to take care of you, to settle your troubles. One of those troubles is the relationship with Phil, and how it soured; it's obvious you're still hurting from it, and I want to help you stop hurting. That's all. If you do want to try again, then I would be more than happy to mediate things for you both, but if not...I think you should at least talk together. And again, I'm happy to be there to help however I can." He studied her, and slowly, painfully nodded.

  
"...Okay. You know, I don't say this often, but...I trust you. I trust you because you're...well, you remind me of my squad leader. He took no shit from anyone, but he always had a kind word to say and a shoulder to lean on when things got bad...and they always got bad."

  
"...I figured as much. I was in Cambodia." His eyes widened, and she only nodded; he gave a little bow, hands folded together, and she bowed back, touched by his knowledge, and again by his respect. 

  
"...So you really do understand."

  
"I do. And I won't lie to you, Clint, this is going to be the hardest leg of this journey. You're going to be raw and hurting by the time we're done, and there might always be a part that never heals. I have that, and if you'll share your experiences, Clint...I'll share mine in equal confidence. I know that it can be hard, so hard, to pore over the worst things that happened in your life, again and again; so, I can promise you this. We won't do it all the time, and we will take breaks." His relief was catching, and she stood up slowly, wincing as her back creaked warningly.

  
"Speaking of a break, let's take one, stretch it out, and eat some dinner. Then, we'll start at the beginning." He groaned as he cracked his neck and stretched his arms, though his eyes were dark and pained now.

  
"...what beginning are we starting at?"

  
"Whichever one you want, Clint. You decide that. The ball's in your court; I'm just the coach."

* * *

  
Tony yawned as he unlocked the front doors to the shop, and left them open for the few morning stragglers as he put his jacket away, grabbed his cupcake apron off the hook just inside the bakery, and started the coffee pots and teas brewing. He missed the sound of Phil puttering in the bakery; the ex-Ranger was out of town for a week, something about an errand for May, their favorite retiree, so two of his assistants, Gemma and Leo, came in around one, did the baking for the day, and left by six, leaving all the goodies under the glass toppers they rarely used, or plastic wrap.

  
He busied himself with unwrapping it all, glad they hadn't left a mess, and got the chairs down after that, humming softly to himself. He didn't begrudge them leaving; they had second jobs up at the same museum Bruce worked at, Leo working with the physics team on the interactive models, while Gemma worked in the bio-chem module with Bruce. Tony had worked there for a while, and he still helped out when he was needed, but...he loved the shop.

  
He loved the people, those he worked with and for, and those he served, and he loved selling things, making each drink and handing over endless donuts and cookies and other delicious treats. It wasn't anywhere near as profitable as weapons tech, but Tony had no interest in continuing that; he worked at night on new water-purifying tech, he had already created several revised designs for more efficient clean energy, and he loved tinkering with machines to make them faster, smarter, stronger...

  
He wasn't like his father; he wouldn't go so far to call it a gift, but it was a very useful skill that he very much loved to use to help people. And once Stane retired, well...no more weapons technology, period, and he could devote all of SI's considerable resources to achieving some real good in the world. Maybe Dad wouldn't agree, but Tony hated the fighting, hated that everything he'd ever done had been tainted by the blood of so many innocent people...

  
No, he'd use that gift, if that's what it was, and build homes, heal wounds, aid in gathering water and growing food. Besides...the smiles he got for it were far more powerful than any praise he'd ever been heaped with by the countless generals and politicians he'd met. Having a hundred little kids come running up to him, hugging him tight, just as muddy as he was from working on repairing their well and pumps, and he couldn't help the grin that touched his lips now. It was still the biggest warm spot in his heart, and he thought that even if he stayed alone all his life, having that would be enough...

  
"Good morning, Tony!" He turned to welcome Steve into the shop, and nearly dropped his morning dose of caffeine in shock. Well, shock and lust; Steve was shirtless, sweaty from his run, his sweats just barely hanging off his hips. And he was _glorious_. Tony's dark eyes traced over every dip and whorl of muscle, in awe of the utter lack of body fat, and he very nearly betrayed himself with a moan at the light dusting of blond hairs down the soldier's washboard abs, disappearing into his pants.

  
"G-Good morning, Steve..." He forced his stammer into some semblance of rationality, and started grinding his favorite beans. "The usual?"

  
"Yes please...oh, do you mind if I borrow some of Phil's heavy-duty string? The one on my sweats broke, and I keep losing my pants." _Oh Christ in heaven, thou art a fucking cruel man._ Sweat broke out over his brow, and he did his best to nod nonchalantly.

  
"Go right ahead, it's just inside the bakery door; scissors should be hanging up over it. Hungry?" Steve beamed and one hand holding up his pants, slipped inside the door, giving Tony a fucking beautiful view of a back and ass he wanted to climb like a tree.

  
"Starving. Could I get a few scones, if you have any?" Now he felt awful; with Phil gone, Leo and Gemma could only really do so much, as good as they both were, and scones were a specialty of Phil's.

  
"I've got cinnamon rolls?"

  
"Oh, even better!" He grinned as he came out, pants now tied up properly, and pulled a tank top out of his back pocket; Tony hadn't even noticed it. Steve tugged it on, and Tony could relax a little bit, his anxiety levels dropping as he got it all ready on a tray. He gave the soldier a smile, well aware of the blush across his cheeks, but hoped that Steve would just think it was from the steam. "Hey, Tony?"

  
"Yeah?" He glanced up, shocked to find Steve right there, and damn him, he was absolutely beautiful when he smiled. Those blue eyes were crinkled with joy, and Tony blustered a little, setting all the food on the tray (Steve always needed at least four rolls or scones or muffins, and it utterly flabbergasted Tony that he could eat that much)...when a warm hand closed on his.

  
"...Look, not to put too fine a point on it, but you and I, we've been attracted to one another for a long time, right?" Tony bit his lip, looking nervous.

  
"...Yeah, I...I've been half in lust with you for a year now...but I fell in love since then, Steve. I...I know I'm a flirtatious bastard, but I don't want a casual fuck; I want a relationship, solid and built on mutual trust and respect. I mean, I'll give up the flirting game gladly if you asked, and I promise, I won't wander-"

  
"I know." The interruption might have pissed him off at any other time, but Steve's earnest gaze only made him blush again. "I want that too. I want to hold you and kiss you and tell you you're an idiot and play the drums for you...I wanna learn how to play piano from you, and steal little kisses and taste your coffee on your lips. I want you, Tony, not your money, not your name. I just want you." He stared at him, at a complete loss for words...and did the only thing he could think of.

  
Tony cupped that strong jaw in one calloused hand, and drew him into a kiss over the counter, letting Steve get just what he wanted, the dark chocolate taste of his coffee still on his lips. Steve only looked surprised for a moment, but deepened it just a hair, cupping the back of Tony's head in one big hand, the other still tangled with Tony's fingers on the counter below. There was no burning desire, no demands...or rather, the fire was there, but warm and soothing, welcoming. Tony suddenly had no doubt that that passion could, and would, spread fast and furious, but right now, it was stable and so utterly perfect...and Tony couldn't ask for anything better.

  
The kiss ended as softly as it began, and Steve kissed his nose, chuckling as Tony blushed and leaned his head into that big shoulder.   
"Come sit down with me? I think we have some time before the regulars show up." He smiled, nodded, and came around the counter, curling up on the outside seat of Steve's favorite booth while one big arm tucked him close to the blond's warm chest.

  
"...I've dreamed of this, you know? Only, I never thought it'd happen; things like that don't happen to guys like me, Steve."

  
"Well then, I'm glad I asked; you deserve a good relationship, and I promise you, I'll do my best for you." He chuckled and stole a bit of cinnamon roll, washing it down with his own coffee; Steve just grinned and stole a kiss in retaliation, making Tony laugh when he licked up the bit of cinnamon and icing on his lower lip.

  
"You know what? I don't doubt you in the least. So, my beautiful new boyfriend; what's on the agenda for today?"

  
"Oh, I thought I'd stay here for a while, cuddle you, then go back to the VA and do some work, then I thought when you got off, we could maybe go to dinner?"

  
"That sounds perfect to me; where at?"

  
"How 'bout that burger joint downtown?"

  
"Ah, Cozy Inn; sounds good to me. You know, the franchise is one of the oldest in the nation for restaurants..."

  
"Yeah? That's cool, where did it originate?"

  
"Salina, Kansas, back in 1922..." Tony let his considerable knowledge fill the void between them, and realized, oddly, when he got up to let Steve leave, that it wasn't actually a void...it just was. And that was the thought that buoyed him through the crowds, through the long shift until he clocked out; that of all the people he'd ever been with, Steve was the first, and only, to fill up the space in his soul as well as his heart. And now, he couldn't wait for tonight.

* * *

  
Phil waited patiently in line at JFK, only checking the clock over the terminal exit once as he leaned against the barricade. May had asked him to do her the favor of picking up a friend of Bruce and Betty's; a young astrophysicist, her boyfriend, his brother, and her intern, even renting a car for him to use to bring them all back to the cafe. She'd volunteered for Bruce months ago, but something had come up, and combined with his own need for a long weekend off, he'd simply gotten Nick to give him the weekend plus Monday and Tuesday to relax, and taken Wednesday off to go pick up Jane Foster and her odd little family.

  
He'd rented a van, just to be safe; supposedly it was just the four of them, but he'd been surprised before, and unpleasant ones like that went down a little easier with a big, nine person van. Besides, there was luggage to consider; according to May, Bruce would have them staying for several months, and since they were flying in from London...He held up his sign with Jane's first and last names, and kept waiting. Finally, an hour after they supposedly landed, eight people approached him out of the crowd streaming to the outside.

  
Jane was the first to reach for his hand, grinning weakly. "I'm so sorry for the extra people...as it turns out, their friends of Thor, and they're going to same way we are...do we need to rent another vehicle?" He only smiled; that was a nice change, most of the time when he picked someone up, he had to do everything. Which was why he despised Reed Richards...

  
"Not at all; I anticipated something happening, so I got a full-sized fan. C'mon, let's get all of you back to the cafe, and we'll discuss things from there." She looked so relieved, and he helped with what luggage he could, strapping down the largest suitcases on the roof rack with Thor and his brother, Loki's considerable help. They were both the tallest men here, and clearly used to working together; they had everything tied down and secured in half the time it would have taken Phil, and both settled in the rearmost backseats with ease. Jane curled up with Thor, and Darcy, her intern, curled up on his other side, promptly going right back to sleep.

  
Loki settled next to her, looking tired as well, and shifted his long legs up as the other three men poured into the middle seat. The last was a lady, her long black hair in a tight braid, her jeans and jacket looking very professional compared to everyone else's more comfortable clothes, and Phil smiled when she introduced herself as Sif. She took shotgun, and they headed back to Brooklyn, Phil taking care to take the quieter streets as everyone dozed.

  
Well, if everyone Bruce knew was this nice and accommodating, he might just do this again; no one fussed at all on the ride, and when he had to brake hard because of an idiot bicyclist, the only noise was a faint expletive from himself. All in all, a nice drive...and when they arrived, he grinned to see Bruce waiting for them. Everyone woke up pretty easily at that, and they poured into the cafe, ordering drinks and food with happy voices as Phil checked on his bakery. Everything was just how it was supposed to be, and he took a deep breath of the cinnamon-scented darkness.

  
"I'll have you know, your cinnamon rolls got me laid, Phil. That's talent." He chuckled and turned to Tony, looking handsome as usual...with Steve blushing and cuddling him close. His smile turned into an honestly happy grin, and he hugged both of them tight.   
"Congratulations! When did this happen?"

  
"Sunday morning, in between my run; I stopped here for breakfast and some help fixing something, and well...we ended up kissing, cuddling, and later that night, dinner and a movie."

  
"He's so romantic. It's fuckin' great, Phil."

  
"Good. So, the two of you are together...any other new developments I should be aware of?" They shared a look, then turned back and shook their heads.

  
"I don't think so...nothing that we've seen, anyway."

  
"Why don't you introduce us to these new folks, Phil? I met Jane at a conference ages ago, but I don't think she remembers me..." That led Phil to introducing Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, Thor and Loki Odinson, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun, and of course, Sif. The whole group welcomed Steve and Tony as old friends while Betty and Bruce set up a few big tables for everyone to converse at, and while they did that, Sam and Bucky arrived, trailed by Tasha, Maria, Nick...it had all the makings of a party, and Phil decided, fuck it, it was just now getting dark outside, and they hadn't had a good time like this in months. He vanished to the bakery to gather up a few bottles of wine that he'd found a few years ago, and came back out just in time to see a few more people arrive, all from the VA.

  
Carol, Rhodey, May...and a blond guy he didn't know, who was talking to Sam and had his back to Phil, and he brought over the bottles, and the corkscrew, then brought over a dozen or so glasses from the small bar they kept too. He was thoroughly engrossed in pouring the wines, and it wasn't until he brought a glass over to the new guy that he got a look at his face...and the glass slipped from his fingers. Dimly, he was aware that Sam had caught it, even keeping the wine from sloshing out...but his only thought was that those big blue-hazel eyes looked so scared...and his lips breathed his name, half prayer, half questioning...

  
"Clint?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to hate me, but don't worry; Chapter four will be up soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the roughest part of the story for me, so please read with caution if you are a survivor of rape and/or major battle. Please forgive any inaccuracies, and I'll be happy to edit and adjust if anyone leaves a comment in regards down below. It will get happier after this, I promise!

"If we really wanna start at the beginning, then we gotta start when my parents first split. Or, well, when my dad broke mom's nose, slapped my head into the sharp edge of the coffee table, and broke three of Barney's fingers when we tried to protect her. I was five. That was the first time I got these, these aids, and after his fingers healed, my big brother learned sign language and taught me, because our old man fucking hated it when people talked in the house. Three years later, they're dead in the car wreck, and we got shipped off to the nuns who ran the orphanage.

  
"They were decent enough, I guess; they didn't tell Barney he couldn't keep teaching me, and there was always food and they didn't get mad...but...perspective parents didn't want a deaf kid with anger issues. Barney was polite, sweet, and cute still, so when the one couple picked him, and didn't want me, he decided that he wasn't gonna give me up. We snuck out, joined the circus...That's where I learned to shoot, y'know? And the circus was shit, it really was, but for once, they didn't care.

  
"They didn't care that I was this fucked up little kid with issues, they didn't care that we were orphans. Hell, all of them were, so we were in good company...and...there's a sense of family in a place like that. Barney got taken in by the security guys, though he still learned the bow like me, and the trapeze artists and clowns took me on, because I was still little and flexible and climbed like a monkey. It wasn't much, but by the time we were teens, we had an okay trailer, a truck to call our own, and jobs that, if they weren't strictly legal, at least they paid.

  
"Then it all fell to shit; our mentors, we caught 'em stealing the night's take, and we both got beat up, but Barney took off when he had the chance...they beat the shit out of me, and left me for dead in the middle of the field, clearing off in the span of the four hours it took me to come to. I was alone, with not a damn dime to my name now, with just a broken bow and arrows that were scattered all over. And it took me hours to hobble into town, begging for a meal and something to drink.

  
"I got lucky, though, for the first time since Mom and Dad died. The first person to come up to me was this retired captain; guy looked about as mean as they could get, but he took me back to his place, got me patched up, fed me, and made me crash out in his spare room. I was sixteen, underweight, and when I woke up, head pounding and feeling like hammered shit, I found my jury-rigged hearing aids replaced with a pair of adult ones. Turns out, this guy knew everyone in this little town in Kansas, and since I'd slept 'round the clock, he had my aids remade and refit, gotten me clothes, shoes, toiletries...he'd even gotten me a damn learner's permit.

  
"When I got the aids adjusted so I could hear again, and drank about a gallon of water to kill the headache, he made me eat before we talked. He wasn't the best cook, but his neighbor lady was, and I know I looked like the most awkward kid on the planet when I hugged her, but I was just so happy. So fucking happy that someone gave a shit. And this guy, he gave more than a shit; he was pissed that I'd gotten beat up. Seriously pissed. So, we talked, and Jericho, he told me that if I wanted to pay him back, I'd get my GED, learn to drive, and go into the Army. They were the only people who'd give me a job in these parts.

  
"And y'know what? It was a good trade off. Jerry, he helped me every night with homework, 'cause I didn't have much more schooling than a fifth grader at that point, and I had to take a lot of extra classes to catch back up. He also taught me money management and how to fix your own clothes and a bunch of other useful stuff; I stayed with him for two years. The night before I graduated high school, we talked it all out, and he told me this. 'If you wanna come back, Clint, we'll be here. We'll be your home.' And hell, I busted up in tears over it, and he just held me, told me I was the kid he'd always wanted.

  
"Told me he loved me that night...and graduation, that was the happiest day of my life by that point. We went out afterwards, went to dinner...and on the way home, it all came crashing down. One minute, he was talking about going fishing all summer, then I could go to the army...the next, he was gasping for air in my arms as I screamed for help. But even with the old doc, he was gone; massive heart attack, from shrapnel damage in 'Nam. It was his neighbor, Betty, who brought me home in a fog, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't stay, couldn't bring anymore bad luck on these wonderful people who loved me so much.

  
"I packed up the house, left her the key and a note in her mail slot apologizing, and went straight to the recruiting office. Eight hours later, I was being trucked out of Fort Riley, Zeandale behind me.

  
"Betty, she understood; she wrote me letters throughout Basic, and when I went on my first trip to Iraq, she started sending me little supply boxes. They weren't much, but it meant the world to me; I sent back money so she didn't have to worry about her Social Security or Medicare not covering things. She passed away three years later, when I was on special assignment in Tehran...and that's when I met Phil.

  
"I was hurting so bad by that point, and I went out of the main compound to find a quiet place to cry; a couple guys had gotten suspicious, Phil was one, and when he found me, he very nearly had me arrested. But looking at the letters I'd saved, at the one the lawyer had sent me at her bequest...He talked to me all night, and excused me from duty the next day to sleep. He apologized when I woke up again, profusely; 'None of us should have doubted you, Clint, and if anyone decides to be an ass, you let me and Fury know. It doesn't matter if your family is a little different; they're still your family.'

  
"I think I fell in love with him right then and there.

  
"I was stationed with his Ranger squad as a sniper, and when we went on leave at the same time, he invited me to his flat in Berlin. He spoke fluent German, and I'd worked on my signing so that I was pretty damn fluent, so between the two of us, we managed pretty well...and before too long, we weren't just roommates. He...this is going to sound so bad, but he was my first. My first...ever. And I think I fell in love with him even more, because with him, I learned that relationships, especially romantic ones, they could be healthy. They could be strong and full of sweetness and love and respect.

  
"They could have food fights and paintball challenges and sleepy days spent all in bed. They could be just as whole apart as they were together...and they could be so much more fulfilling then I ever could have dreamed. We spent two full tours, and a total of five years together; we were so damn happy. So goddamn happy; fuck, I even got a hold of my big brother, and he and I, we talked about so much that had happened. He had a wife and a kid and another on the way, and he was so excited for us to come back to the States. Hell, he didn't even mind that I'd gotten with another guy, and an older one at that.

  
"That's love, right?

  
"At least, that's what I think it is. We were on our last mission; the very last for Phil, and mine too, because we both wanted to retire and go home to Iowa and since Barney didn't want the farmhouse, we said we'd take it and fix it up. Our plans were pretty set in stone, though we knew there was always a chance shit could go haywire...but...this was supposed to be an easy op. In and out, get the political prisoners to the main base, and go home.

  
"I didn't realize anything was wrong until we got back to base, though; we'd done the job, and I was getting my gear put up, then figured I'd hit the showers and go snuggle up with Phil. I was tired; I'd spent all day in the sun, eyes half-blinded by the desert glare and one pressed to my scope. My camel....yeah, I know, but she was a sweet critter, and I could hide pretty easily under the native dress when I had to. Especially if I went partially masked and wore my brown contacts. But anyway...Didn't have to pull off a shot, so I ambled back to the rendezvous with the others, handed off my girl to her new owner, and headed back to base.

  
"It was so easy....too easy. I didn't notice the hand on my ass in the shower at first; I was so grateful for cool water, rather than lukewarm, that I focused on that. And with my aids out, I can't hear anything at all, unless it's very loud...so when I did noticed, I leaned back into it, because the only person it could be was Phil, right? Or so I thought.

  
"I turned to give Phil a kiss, and very nearly had a heart attack; it was one of the generals, ugly as sin and grinning, and he squeezed my ass, smirking, and said something. What it was, I didn't know, but I could guess; his below average pecker was standing at attention, and when I brought my hands up to try and sign, backing away from his groping, I discovered that we weren't alone. Four more of the high-up officials appeared out of nowhere, and the only thing I could hear was my heart thudding in my ears. I kept praying that Phil would walk in, demand to know what was going on, and I could escape...but no. No, he was still being debriefed, and I ended up being pinned to a bench in the locker room as each of them took turns-" His voice finally broke on the sobs he was fighting to hold back, and May wrapped a strong hand around his, grounding him as he let go and broke down.

  
He'd been talking for hours now, but only in the last two had they delved into his past, and she'd sensed that he was ready...ready to let it all out, and to heal. She held onto him as his grief and fear and pain and suffering buffeted him, giving him all that she could to weather the storm in his heart and mind. And when his sobs began to soften, his rage and pain burned out, she was there with a glass of cool water and a shoulder for him to lean on.  
He was a cuddly bastard; he latched onto her waist and nestled into her shoulder, and she couldn't help leaning back into the comfortable sofa and stroking her free hand through his hair. The weak purr she got made her smile a little, and she pressed a maternal kiss to his forehead.

  
"...Thank you, May." His voice was raspy and so soft, and she rested her cheek on the spot she'd kissed.

  
"You're very welcome, Clint. I'm proud of you; so proud of you. And whenever you want to finish telling me is fine; I am not going to push you." He sighed softly, eyes closing, and she waited him out, rubbing a hand up and down his spine, gratified when he melted further into the sofa. He was a big guy, more so now that he had regular meals again, but she could see the faint edges where long-time hunger had carved its mark. Clint would never be a fat man, that was for certain, and she was sure that he still didn't eat nearly enough, even now.

  
But that was something for another day; right now, she wanted to get him over this hurdle, then bundle him to bed with something sweet and alcoholic and let him sleep. He shifted upright again, and took a deep breath, staying close enough to her for their thighs to touch, but choosing to tackle this on his own. She was so very proud of that.

  
"...I want to finish this. I...I need to finish this. So...they raped me. They...were abusive, and thank god I didn't get hard or come from it, because I'd probably be even more fucked up for it. Well, I guess these idiots looking for an easy target didn't realize how easy they looked to the local branch of the Taliban; right as the last general started in on me, incendiaries started dropping on the base. Somehow, these fuckers got a hold of some napalm, because shit was _melting_ as we watched, and that distraction was all I needed; the fear vanished in rage.

  
"I broke up the group and did my best to incapacitate them, grabbed my gear, my boots, my aids, and ran naked through the lower tunnels, taking a moment to get dressed when I hit one of the power rooms. From there, I tried to get to Phil...but I didn't matter what I did, the fires were getting too big. I made it above ground, though, and tried to help put out what I could, when it happened; one of the rockets lit off, and punctured one of the huge, above ground gas tanks.

  
"The explosion threw me almost a football field, and into a truck; broke my right shoulder in two places, along with four ribs, my left forearm, my shinbones, and put a fracture in my femur. I thought I'd died...and when I came to, I wished I had. The pain, along with the half-million cuts from the shrapnel, kept blacking me out, and when I finally woke up again, it was in a hospital in London, my whole body bandaged and pain held back by a truly impressive amount of morphine."

 

"...so, you finally had a chance to rest."

  
"...Yes and no. I...they discharged me less than two weeks later, sent me home to Iowa, and left me with a purple heart and not a damn thing to my name. The house and land were gone; bank had repossessed 'em years ago. Barney and his family had moved away, and when I tried to call him...well, I learned then that those generals? They survived, and they wanted revenge. They'd told Barney I'd turned traitor, and God help me, he believed them; they wove a damn convincing story..."

  
"Oh Clint..."

  
"Every town I stopped at, they found me. They found me, and they drove the knife in deeper; once people found out what I was, I got ran out of town. Faggot, homo, pedo...you name it, they called me it. They threatened me with guns and knives and rape...They didn't give a damn that I was the nice guy who bagged groceries and walked dogs..." The tears started to fall again, and she hugged his shoulders, letting him cry it out; it had to have been hell, knowing that the people you'd fought to serve and protect could turn on you like rabid dogs.

  
"And then I found out that Phil was alive...he was alive and well...and he thought I was dead. Hell, my name's even on the memorial in DC; everyone I ever knew either thought I was dead or a traitor...I wanted to just end it all. I nearly did, too; that day I came here, to the VA? I was gonna do it. I was gonna ask Sam for a little cash, go buy some sleeping pills, and just OD. I wanted oblivion, wanted to just let go...

  
"And...somehow, he knew. He knew, and he was heartbroken. For me. He fucking didn't even know my name yet, but he wanted to help. And fuck, May; I wanted him to. So...I did. I put those pills in my personal bag and told myself I'd take them if those bastards came back to haunt me again. But either they're too busy, or they think I'm really dead now, because I haven't heard anything from them in the last month and a half..."

  
"Which I'm grateful for. You deserve to be able to rebuild your life, Clint." He looked up at her then, and his lips curved into a crooked smile.

  
"...you know, as pissed off as you look when you say that, I think I really do believe you. Well, there's not much more to it; I came here, got my job...and now I'm talking all this out with you...and I'll be honest, feeling a hell of a lot better than I have for a long time. Thank you, for listening." She smiled then, and hugged him; he hugged her back, fierce and strong, and she kissed his forehead again, feeling oddly at ease with her normally nonexistent motherly instincts. Maybe it was just Clint; he had a way about him that made everyone care, if only because he was so earnest and good-hearted. Hurt, yeah, but he tried so hard. Maybe that was it...

  
"I'm glad you feel so safe, Clint, and I'm always happy to listen. Always. You can call me whenever, including the middle of the night; I won't be mad." He studied her, looking surprised, and smiled, shyly.

  
"...Yeah. You know what? I believe you. Thank you."

  
"Anytime. Now...I do have just one question for you."

  
"Fire away; I've asked plenty of you." She smiled at the questioning she'd undergone the last week, and chuckled.

  
"It's pretty simple, and I understand if you don't want to answer...but, may I ask what's in that bag that you protect so fiercely?" She genuinely was curious; he didn't seem to mind any other prying, but that bag...He went red, wringing his hands together, and she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, got up, fetched it, and brought it back over, settling the worn little canvas bag on his lap.

  
"...It's me." He opened the flap on top, and she understood now. It was him; his dog tags, his bundle of letters and photos from that sleepy little town in Kansas and the father he'd lost too soon. A ragged, brown and black stuffed puppy, missing one eye and part of his tail, the plush so worn down in spots that she could see the fabric underneath. A set of keys that she knew, instinctively, would never open another door again. An arrowhead, wrapped together in twine with a piece of broken fletching...and a curved, broken piece of wood, gleaming softly in the light overhead.

  
"...I'll probably never draw a bow again, but I...Jerry got me this beautiful bow that I kept for years, and a quiver too, and I lost it through Tennessee. I kept that piece, and the arrowhead, in memory of him..."

  
"...are you sure you'll never draw one again?"

  
"As bad as my shoulder is? Probably. It never set right, and between working constantly and never sleeping while it healed, it's gonna be all jacked up for the rest of my life. I certainly can't afford the surgery, and it'd be my luck that I'd go under, and wake up to find that they were throwing me out yet again." She didn't say, 'we won't let that happen', because even if they could ensure that, he probably wouldn't believe it. And small wonder; he'd be targeted by a group of men who, if she were given the chance...well, she'd make sure they were never a problem to this battered man again.

  
But she did hug him again, and he hugged her back, smiling faintly at the affection. She wasn't a lovely-dovey type, but there was something about Clint; she wondered if she'd ever had a child with her ex-husband, if he might have turned out something like this boy. She pushed the thought and her own pain away, and offered him another glass of water.

  
"Well, how are you feeling? You said relieved, and better; think you're up to seeing Phil properly?" He took a deep breath, his hands shaking around the glass, and she waited him out; he had every right to say no.

  
"...If you promise to be there, May. I...I couldn't do it alone. And I couldn't...I couldn't tell him about this alone either."

  
"You bet your ass I'll be there, Clint. And you tell him what _you_ feel up to telling him; I'll be ready to slap the shit out of him if he tries to get you to say more, okay?" He grinned; it was small, but it was real, and she smirked back, patting his hand. "That's my boy. I talked to Steve earlier; there's an impromptu party going down at the coffee shop. Wanna crash it?"

  
"Only if you teach me your ways, master?" She grinned outright and gave him a love-tap on the top of the head; he only laughed, full and happy and strong, and she smiled. That was the sound she'd been waiting to hear.

* * *

  
"...Phil?" Clint looked so damned scared, so ready to bolt, that Phil stilled the hand that had come up to pull him into a kiss; all of his instincts were screaming at him in the negative. And from the way that Clint flinched, Phil realized that they were right, and he let his hand drop back to his side. Everyone else was too busy eating and drinking and laughing, and it was May, careful, considerate May, who took them both by the elbow and marched them into his own bakery. She flicked on the low lights and settled them both on the stools, and Phil was grateful for the cool breeze coming in through his doorway, and silently thanked Tony for leaving it open.

  
"Alright. Phil, a lot of shit has happened to your man, and we're gonna walk you through it. But I need a promise; I need you to promise him that you will not rush him into anything that he's not ready for. And if he's never ready, then you need to understand that, and respect it."

  
"Of course! I...I could never force you into anything, Clint, please..." Phil felt his heart thud in his throat as Clint looked at him, looking more and more upset and scared now than ever...and when he spoke again, Phil just sat there and listened, though his eyes held all the grief now that he hadn't been there, that he hadn't tried hard enough...And Clint shyly, nervously, slipped a hand into his, gripping it tight.

  
"I know you won't; you never have, and you never will. But you need to know what happened the day of that attack...and why I couldn't find you." From there, the words tumbled out, and Phil felt both his rage and his worry spike at Clint's story, his voice wrecked when he told him about the gang rape, the injuries he'd sustained...the persecution all the way to New York, even though he'd been listed as dead on every report.

  
Phil listened to the way his shoulder ached every day, to the limping he only barely hid from everyone, because his legs never healed right, the scars that he felt so self-conscious about. The sobbing wreck he became when he tried so hard to even think about sex and pleasure, and the fear that he would never be a good lover ever again. Phil wanted, desperately to hold him and kiss him and never let him go, but he knew, deep in his heart, that he might lose Clint forever if he tried to be too clingy right now.

  
So, he held onto his hand like a lifeline, and listened, and when Clint finally ran out of words, his voice drained and so weak...Phil very, very carefully touched his chin, drawing his weary head up to meet his own eyes.

  
"...Whatever else happens in this world, I will never stop loving you. I didn't when I thought you'd died-" He took a moment to compose himself, and continued. "And I won't now that I know everything. I have loved you too much, for too long, to let you go again, unless you need me to. If we never have sex, never even kiss, okay. I can live with that. What I can't live with is knowing that you might be out there somewhere, alone and scared and hurting, and I'm not doing anything to help you. I...I want to help you heal, Clint. If you'll have me." It wasn't his best speech, but it didn't seem like Clint cared; all Phil saw was that sweet, shy smile that filled his whole world again.

  
"I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, it's just like old times, right Nick?" Pierce's cronies had always been a source of serious annoyance for the former Director of SHIELD, and knowing that the Secretary rarely policed his lackeys, well...That annoyance turned into a fierce, protective rage that made his remaining eye glint with shadows that these morons didn't even notice. He glanced back down at his cards again, and hid his smirk behind a needless shuffle. Poker was the easiest vice these fuckers had, and for some stupid reason, everything thought they could take on Fury. The only ones who'd ever succeeded were his team...

  
But then again, he'd handpicked these particular generals from all of Pierce's men, not because of who they were...but what they'd done. These four were the ones who'd isolated Clint from the rest of his team, who'd snuck into the lockers and raped him so brutally. These were the bastards that after he fought back and escaped, after he nearly died helping protect his comrades, then tormented him and ran him from town to town until he'd crawled, broken and battered and an emotional wreck into New York.

  
And Nick smiled his favorite smile as he laid down his cards, ignoring their groans at his Royal Flush. That was the signal; four pairs of hands reached out of the darkness around the poker, all with gags and the heavy-duty zip ties that law enforcement used, and Fury stood, leaning over the table to study each of the bastards with a knowing smirk.

  
"Yes, gentlemen, I suppose it is. Now, you were all four brought here for one reason." He pulled the photo of Clint, young and happy and grinning at the man he loved behind the camera, and laid it neatly on the green felt. All four stared at him, the color draining from their faces. Oh, they knew alright...they knew how badly they'd fucked up. Nick was proud that his reputation still sent chills down the spines of those lesser officers, and he handed the photo back to Phil, who stood behind the biggest, ugliest one. The one who had first beat Clint, and the one who'd violated him first.

  
"Oh yes, you do know what that reason is, don't you? You assaulted, and raped, a young sniper of the 107th squadron, under the command of the 56th regiment of Rangers. You beat him bloody, violated him repeatedly, and when he was injured helping others, you sorry sons of bitches had him shipped back before he healed, kicked out of the VA, and then tormented him through a string of twenty-plus towns over a three-year-period. You deserve to die, every one of you. Worse, you deserve the exact same injuries he received."

  
Oh, they were quivering now; two had gone pretty heavily to fat, and it would've been pretty damn funny, had the whole thing not been such a mess. And Clint wouldn't have wanted that sort of revenge enacted; as he put it, the only way to hit them was in their reputations, in their pride and office. And he was right; they could break every fucking bone in these bastards' bodies. But it would only get them arrested or hunted down, and Clint was done with being someone's plaything.

  
"But you know what? The man you hurt so badly? He's got a hell of a big heart, and he won't have you jackasses hurt. At least, not physically. However, as we speak, your servers are being filled with every horror known to mankind, and anonymous emails will be sent out to every major paper in the world to show what monsters you really are. And funnily enough, we didn't even have to put that much in; according to what I've learned, three of you had so much kiddie porn already on your computers that if you're not burning in Hell, it's because they're devising new tortures. And you...you fucked up bastard, you waited till your little girl was sixteen, then you fucking had her gangraped? You're just as bad as them.

  
"So, we're gonna expose you. We're gonna make all of you rue the day you ever harmed another human being, and that includes those kids you raped in Thailand, your daughter and her best friend...the little alter boy in the Vatican, and the old lady you assaulted in Nova Scotia last year." He punctuated each assault with a pointed finger, standing like Judgment over them. "And you bastards will suffer, stripped of your office, of your powers, of your freedoms. Go rot in hell."

  
May's voice, cool and impassive, filled the darkness, and all of them flinched badly; they knew too well who she was.

  
"The police will arrive shortly, Colonel. It seems our miscreants had far more in their records then we realized, and they're to be apprehended at all costs. Shoot to kill has been authorized." Four pairs of eyes went wide and begging at that, and Fury only smiled dangerously.

  
"So be it. Let's go, team." 

* * *

  
Phil waited for them to start towards the door, and paused by the one who'd pursued Clint the most, leaning down to murmur in his ear.

  
"I know you'll try to go after my Clint again; let me make one thing clear. Nicholas J. Fury was my superior officer. I answer to only one man now, and while he wouldn't thank me for it...this is what you'll meet in some dark alley some night." The wicked edge of the blade he held against the man's cheek made the bastard whimper through his gag, and Phil's lips twitched up in a humorless smile.

  
"And make no mistake, General. There will be no mercy in me then. I only agreed to this because Clint asked me to be merciful; attack him again, and I will end your sorry life without even a breath." The knife's edge slid against his cheek, drawing the faintest bead of blood, along with fire in the nerves; Phil knew exactly how to get what he wanted, and the pain would be enough of a reminder for now.

  
He sheathed the blade (one of Clint's actually, borrowed from Sam), and followed them out the door, feeling his rage throb through his veins, just as pounding as his heartbeat. May raised her eyebrow at him, when he vanished into the woods outside the small compound with them, and he just gave her a smile.

  
"Typical." She muttered, and he just rolled his eyes, letting Nick lead May, Maria, Natasha, and himself back to their borrowed truck. He was just grateful that it was just the five of them, anyway; Clint was still too fragile, Sam had no stomach for covert work, and neither Bucky nor Steve wanted to risk it. Tony and Bruce were busy extracting themselves from the mire of filth, judging from Tony's various vomiting emojis, and Betty would be getting everything ready for when they came home.

  
Which, unfortunately, was still nine hours away; Natasha and Maria were splitting off after DC to go to the Bahamas for their long-awaited vacation, May was going to visit her ex-husband on the West Coast...and Nick? Nick was going back with Phil to New York; they still had a coffee shop to run. And Phil now had another puppy dog face to come home to, though this one was quite literal. But...he couldn't bring himself to find any anger in his heart over Clint adopting the shaggy, older Labrador Retriever. The selfie he'd taken, his very first, was of he and Lucky laying in the grass in Central park...

  
And Phil had it as his wallpaper. 

* * *

  
"I fucking hate people." Tony scrubbed at his eyes, and Steve snuggled him close, stroking his hair. He groaned and put his head on Steve's shoulder, nestling. 

 

"I know, Tones. I know. But...it's all exposed, the kids are being helped..."

  
"Yeah, I put a shitload of money to the kids to help them out, and I've got a full company of foster families ready to take them on and get them all help. But...fuck, what those fuckers did to those kids, and to Clint..." Everyone knew, now, much to Clint's obvious dismay.

  
It was all over the tabloids and the news, and by mutual assent, the TV in the cafe stayed tuned to Boomerang to catch all the old Looney Toons and other cartoons, and Clint refused to go anywhere in public alone. Of course, with Lucky, he didn't have to; they'd bonded after Lucky had escaped his kennel, and with Steve's help, Clint had shakily paid the adoption fees and bought a leash and collar, and from there, he'd blossomed.

  
Lucky did what they couldn't do; be the non-judgmental, ever-listening friend that Clint had needed for years. He was affectionate, cuddly, and though he had no supposed record of being a service dog, he seemed to know instinctively when Clint should eat, get up, etc. Phil hardly minded, though, because he had Clint home with him, even though right at the moment, they still had separate rooms. It was enough to share the same roof, the same meals, and to see that sweet smile again.

  
"He'll be okay, Tony. He's safe now, with Luck and Phil and May looking after him."

  
"...Yeah, I guess you're right..." He smiled, stole a long, leisurely kiss, and nestled more, feeling distinctly comfortable...when he heard the most ominous sound in the world. "OH FUCK WHO THE HELL LET HIM OUT-goddammit, Dummy." He slapped his head into his palm as his single-armed robot shot out of the creaking doorway and upended three coffee pots (all metal, thankfully) and four of Phil's serving trays (also metal, but full of goodies). Stomping over, he wrestled the robot back into his tech room, grumbling as he listened to Steve laugh behind him...and there, he found his culprit.

  
"Bruce, you knucklehead!"

  
"Eh, you'll live; you can't keep him locked up forever."

  
"...Try me, Banner. Just try me. You, you go right back into your charging station and you STAY there until I tell you to come out, you here me?" Dummy's strut drooped, and he wheeled over forlornly, camera coming up hopefully as Tony put his hands on his hips. "Don't you give me that look, mister; you know what you did was wrong, and yet you still manage to keep doing it. Charging station, NOW." He made sure the restraining bands were in place, gave Bruce a love-tap upside the head, and headed back down the hall to Steve, helping him sweep up the sad remains of Phil's delicious cookies.

  
"I'm sorry, Bruce got in there to do some more trolling against the generals and Dummy decided to make a break for it."  
"Oh, I figured as much...well, we lost the cookies, and a full pot of coffee that he so kindly flipped into the sink, but otherwise, we're good. Don't worry, Tony; things will even out like they always do. Look at Phil and Clint; two months ago, Clint was a drifter, Phil was drifting, and you and I were not the gorgeous power couple of today." That got a grin out of him, and he let Steve draw him into his arms, dancing a little in circles. "Things will get better, I know it."

  
"...You know, I think that's my favorite part of you."

  
"What, my naive sense of the world?" He laughed, but Tony could see the faint hurt, and he only smiled, shaking his head and pressing a soft, whiskery kiss to Steve's lips, soothing away that sadness.

  
"No. Your faith in everyone you love, and the lives we've chosen for ourselves. Your faith in our paths, whether they spiral off into the horizon, or converge all together. That's my favorite part of Steven Rogers. Well, that and your truly glorious ass!" That got him a deep laugh, and Tony danced with him, round and round, lost in those sky-blue eyes once more.

  
If there was a heaven, well...

  
He'd just found it.

* * *

"Hey, big guy, can we pet your dog?" Clint blinked as he looked up from the book he was slowly working through; reading still came difficult to him, but he worked hard at it, every day. And on his days off, he came down to the park when it was nice, Lucky passed out on the blanket beside him. Right now, Luck was awake for a change, gnawing on a milkbone, and four teens stood before him; two girls, two boys. He smiled, tucking the faded old bookmark in his place, and ran a big hand over Lucky's hindquarters, chuckling as the dog whuffed at him.

  
"Go careful with him, he's blind in one eye, and let him sniff your hands; he's pretty even keeled, though, but everyone has their bad days." All four nodded solemnly, and one by one, they let Lucky get to know them...though the lolling tongue as they all rubbed his back, belly, shoulders and head made Clint laugh a little. Lucky was happy to flop on his side and let the kids go to town, and Clint found himself talking to them, more relaxed around strangers than he had been for...well. Since he first met Sam, Steve, and Bucky.

  
Kate was the first one he talked to; she'd been the first to ask, a pale, dark-haired, tall girl with a glint in her eye that spelled doom for any guy trying to pull one over on her. America was the second girl; her eyes brightened to the prettiest brown-gold as she crooned over Lucky's silky soft ears, and the soft accent pointed to a Hispanic upbringing...Not that he minded, no!

  
Her voice was a soft melody of English and Spanish praise...And he turned to the two boys, a big hulking blond with a soft voice, and paler, dark-haired boy with the challenge in his eyes, smiling as they stroked over Lucky's belly and back. Teddy and Billy were their names, and he gave his, just watching them relax. If he was judging things right, they were actually a pair of couples, and his suspicions were proven exactly so when Teddy gave Billy a reluctant kiss, saying that he had to go to work.

  
Billy had frozen under Clint's scrutiny, and he smiled, pulling out his wallet...and showing Billy the picture he and Phil had taken when they first got together, the two of them on a beach in France.

  
"...Holy shit, you're gay too?" He chuckled softly and nodded, stowing it away, and the girls just laughed. He also took comfort in the fact that not once had any of them mentioned his obvious aids, now nicely comfortable and refitted by Bruce and Tony.  
"C'mon, man, would we have picked a guy who was homophobic?"

  
"Well, you never know..." Clint only nodded, running his hands over Lucky's back now that Teddy was gone.

  
"You never can tell with everyone; sometimes you think, oh, this person has GOT to be an ally...and then, they turn out to be the most homophobic, transphobic, racist piece of trash this side of Donald Trump. But I am glad you picked me...I...it was really nice. And Lucky's going to be a very unhappy dog when he realizes you all have to leave."

  
They laughed at that, the seriousness breaking up at the truth of it all, and Clint waved them good bye as each one left, first Billy, then the girls. Kate had seemed to want to push him for more information about himself, so he'd given her the address of the cafe and told her to bring her friends; the more the merrier, and Fury would be happy to have a younger crowd.

  
Hell, Tony was considering making it a Gym for Pokemon Go; with a little luck, they might just make a killing off of kids and young adults. But right now, Clint was happy that it wasn’t so busy; it made getting up off the ground a little less painful. It made the quiet trek back to the shop comfortable, knowing that he’d arrive, and he and Lucky could go right on inside and settle comfortably by the bakery door, and when Phil was done for the day, they’d all walk home, the two of them hand in hand, and Lucky right by his side.

  
Thinking about that, Clint was hard-pressed to find a better place to go home to...Not even Iowa had been this welcoming. And, he thought, maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to let all of that go, and welcome this melting pot of a city into his heart. And as he turned the corner and saw the shop with Tony and Steve dancing inside, Sam and Bucky talking animatedly out on the patio, the gifts from Tasha and Maria overflowing the box before them, well...he had to smile. Much to his surprise, he already had.

* * *

  
Phil flicked on the lights, just like every morning he opened the bakery, and blinked at the enormous confection of flowers on his worktable. Sure, he’d come in to bouquets in the past, especially the very recent past, with Clint’s hand-picked little bundles of wildflowers set in mason jars and once, one of Phil’s measuring cups. (He’d kept them for a whole week, he didn’t really need the half-cup.)

  
But nothing like this monstrosity. It had to weigh at least thirty pounds, and he moved around it warily, till he came to the card...and lo and behold, there was his answer.

  
“May, you bitch.” He muttered, grumbling at the ‘Happy Birthday!’ card and her sarcastic message of ‘You’re an old fart now.’ Yeah, yeah, he was turning forty, but dammit, he was not interested in being reminded of it! And with this monster of an arrangement...With a little grunt of annoyance, he carried it out to the counter and left it to the side, well out of Tony and Maria’s way when they arrived, yet all nice and pretty for the customers.

  
He then went about his morning, working through his break so that he could get out sooner than usual, but took a little time to give his thanks for his gifts. From Maria, a gorgeous new holster for his Glock, and how did she know he’d needed one? The tooled black leather was rather reminiscent of Clint’s arrow fletching but he didn’t mind. Tony’s gift was a little more real-world practical; an upgrade to his laptop and the desktop at home, as well as a small bundle of his and Clint’s favorite John Hughes movies. Now he could watch The Breakfast Club without his VHS having issues.

  
Nick and Tasha had left theirs with Maria, a bag of Phil’s favorite coffee beans and a beautiful copy of a Russian fairytale novel that he’d despaired ever finding again. Jasper had left him recipes and a bag of his favorite ranch dressing dry mix, and Steve had drawn both portraits of Clint and Lucky, and Phil’s own hometown skyline of Boston. Bucky had gotten him his favorite beer, while Sam had passed some excellent homemade banana bread...

  
All that was left, was Clint. And Phil hadn’t seen him in his bed when he checked before leaving, but Lucky was gone too, so Phil wasn’t worried; both man and dog sometimes needed the cool break outside, and he couldn’t begrudge them that. And Phil was resolute in not wanting to push Clint right now. If he wanted to get Phil a gift, that was great. If not, then Phil wasn’t going to take it personal. There was a lot going on in Clint’s head right now, and Phil would be the first to admit that he was a huge part of that.   
Not intentionally, of course, but...well, they’d gone from a very fun, and very sexual relationship to something out of a Shakespearean tragedy, to discovering that after all this time, what they’d known was a lie, and what they feared...well. Not so much.

  
In a very real respect, the carefree, quick-tempered Clint Barton he’d first fallen in love with was very much gone. In his place, though, was a man that Phil felt that he loved all the more.

  
Clint was still Clint, but the changes in him, the shyness, the nervous quality to his movements, the anxiety...They were offset by a deeper calm when he was comfortable, a seriousness that Phil was certain hadn’t been there before lending some serious weight to his words.

  
And his words, oh...He had always been relatively eloquent when he was passionate about something, even though he still had a bad tendency to slip into that lazy drawl when he didn’t particularly care...and now, he was lightning fast when he wanted to be. Or, rather, when his fears dropped away; other times, he would be so anxious and fearful that he’d barely stammer out a sentence, then disappear somewhere, anywhere, in the shop or the house.

  
But that was okay; with Lucky here, those instances were far fewer now, and Clint was so much more active, his limp fading as his muscle and bone adjusted to steady walking and rest once more. There was still the issue of his shoulder, and Tony had promised, once things died down, they’d talk to Clint’s incredible doctor and get her opinion on whether it would just need surgery to correct, or need to be rebroken and set properly.

  
Phil hoped for the former, and so did Clint; he’d started shooting arrows again, painfully, carefully adjusting to his left hand to draw, and right now, he sucked. But he was practicing every day out in their backyard, helped by the pack of kids he’d met in the park one day. One was a damn fine archer herself, and she’d been helping him work up his draw strength and frankly, Phil was grateful, because Katie-Kate wouldn’t allow Clint to overwork himself, either before his shifts, or after.

  
America, Teddy, Billy, Miles, Cammi...Phil enjoyed having them over, because they nearly always brought Tony, Steve, Sam, Bucky, Bruce and Betty...Maria and Tasha were still on vacation, having traveled to Budapest, and Nick was causing gleeful havoc in DC again. Phil had even started inviting over Thor, Loki, Jane, and Darcy, since they’d all gone in together and bought an old bookshop.

  
Thor and Loki planned on doing the main business, since Jane was teaching astrophysics and Darcy was working on her political sciences degree. Phil thought it was a lovely idea; their goal was to make the bookshop a homey, comfortable place to come and sit and relax. And if they teamed up, well...

  
He laughed a little at himself when he walked out of the bakery for the day, shaking his head at the dollar signs he was daydreaming about. They might never be rich, but he knew he didn’t want that. He wanted the same little house they’d begun to call home, the warm whuff as Lucky flopped at his feet. He wanted Clint’s warm hand in his as they watched movies, and the shy kiss they shared nearly every night as they parted ways to sleep. He didn’t need money to make him happy...

  
But, he was hoping for a handsome blond archer. But no, as he peered over the small crowd filling the shop, he realized that his blond wasn’t among them, and slipped out the door before Tony could question where Clint was too. As he trudged home, he felt the fear catch flame in his heart, and wondered if things had finally gotten too difficult for Clint to handle. Phil had said plenty of times that he wouldn’t mind if Clint needed space, but...on his birthday?

  
Well...he had said any time, and if Clint had forgotten, well, Phil wasn’t going to be an ass and get pissy just because he got forgotten about; hell, most of his family had forgotten his birthday when he was a kid, and he’d learned not to get pissed over that. Right?...He’d just keep telling his aching heart that, and maybe he’d start to believe it. The way home to the little house he’d bought a few years ago wasn’t through the greatest neighborhood, but the punks respected him, the kids adored him, and the parents thought he was pretty awesome.

  
But then again, this was the bulk of their customer base, and he’d taught no few of these folks how to cook meals ‘like Mama used to make’, because there was a large portion that had gone to prison early in their lives, and they wanted to make their lives better. Hell, he couldn’t blame them; he’d had his own issues when he’d come home after the base’s attack. It had been a mutual learning experience, and now, well...now he could walk unscathed, giving the kiddos the last bags of cookies and crumbled muffin for an early afternoon snack.

  
When he made his way through the slightly overgrown front garden, though, he noticed something on his door, white against the dark blue paint...and his stomach dropped. Fingers shaking, he nearly dropped the note twice before unfolding it...and it took a moment to read the small, badly printed letters. Clint’s handwriting...well, there was only so much even two years of cramming at seventeen could do to improve what was essentially a six-year-old’s penmanship.

  
The large, blocky letters filled the page...but when Phil finally deciphered it, he blinked in slight confusion. The letter read quite simply, and it surprised the hell out of him.

  
“PHiL,

i nO U wErr prOLLy LOOking fOUr mE at wErk, bUt i CamE hOmE tU makE Ur sUrprizE. CUm insidE!

cLint”

  
The sketched heart was beautiful, and Phil felt his heart thump a little louder as he unlocked and opened the door to darkness. He paused, closing the door, and let his eyes adjust to the hallway...which wasn’t dark after all, but a glow with a dozen big pillar candles, each as thick as his arm. Dusted on the hardwood floor were what could only be rose petals, and Phil felt his heart leap into his throat as he slipped off his shoes, then followed the trail to the back of the house.

  
There, Clint was putting the last touches on an actual nest, the round cushion filled with pillows and blankets to ward off the September chill, and the scent of barbeque filled the air; his archer turned at his appreciative sniffing, and that roguish, wonderful grin that Phil had been so certain was gone lit a fire low in his belly. The whole yard was done up to make this their private party, the nest covered by a wonderful gazebo of gauze and nylon overhead, all the better to ward off the approaching storm.

  
“Clint...this is amazing...” His beloved archer just smiled at that, and carefully, shyly took Phil’s hand, drawing him close.   
“It’s amazing because you’re amazing, Phil. I...I am sorry that I wasn’t at the shop today, but I really wanted to get everything for this, and I...I needed to do this for you. You’ve been the light my life for a very long time; I’ve loved you more than I have any other person on this planet. And I...I’m not givin’ you up.” There was that stubborn Midwestern hardheadedness he’d missed so much...and when did that lump in his throat appear?

  
“So...I wanted to make it permanent.” And Phil’s mouth went dry as slowly, shakily, Clint knelt down on his good knee, drawing a ring out of his pocket, only a little linty. He took it, because how in the hell could he not, and it fit, so perfectly on his ring finger that he suspected collusion...but oh, how he did not give a single damn. Not when he had a beautiful ring of steel and honed bow-wood, protected in diamond, and the most incredible man in the world kissing him so damn perfectly.

  
No, he didn’t give a damn about anything else right now...

  
He had a wedding to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for Broken Arrows, folks, but you know, I think this is just the beginning; we'll see what the next night brings. This has been five days of 4k+ writing, usually from 11pm to 4am, and has brought my Camp NaNo score up from barely scraping by to about 5k from the finish line. And it's all due to you; this is only the second fic I've ever finished, and I never would have without the encouragement and kindness I've received in all the comments. Thank you, all of you, and we'll see you again soon!


End file.
